Six Months
by alanwolfmoon
Summary: Chase quit six months before the story starts because he knew something was wrong with his body, and he didn't want pity. This story covers the six months after he comes back.
1. Chapter 1

Chase had quit six months ago. Cut off all ties. Refused to answer the phone or the door, left a message saying that he wasn't dead, just ignoring everyone.

Personally, he wondered if House had left a similar message at one time or another. He guessed he probably had.

Chase missed the hospital. Missed his job, missed Cameron, missed foreman, missed Wilson, missed Cuddy, even missed House.

But it was what he had decided to do, he wasn't going to wimp out now.

Except it was really hard to give yourself stitches when you couldn't see anything.

He sighed, pushing the button on his watch that would tell him the time.

It was eight in the morning, none of the diagnostics department would even be there yet.

Safest time.

He felt for the phone for a moment, then called a cab, holding his left hand in the air above his head to keep it from bleeding too much.

Stupid knife. Stupid cutting board. Stupid tomato.

He sighed, sitting on the exam table, hand still in the air.

So far the only person he knew that had noticed him had been nurse Brenda, and she wasn't likely to tell anyone.

The door opened.

He didn't hear anyone come in.

Chase was on the verge of saying something, when the sound of rubber on tile and mismatched footsteps met his ears.

He got off the table, trying to push past the familiar person, but the door closed.

He stopped, feeling for the handle, knowing he was blushing.

A hand met his, pulled it off the door with surprising gentleness, and tugged it towards the exam table.

He lowered his head, letting himself be led back onto the table.

A hand touched his bleeding one, and he brought it down so House could get a look.

He felt something wiping the blood away, then a swab, which stung, and finally fingers, gently pulling on the skin, checking the depth of the cut.

He expected House to say something. Whether about the situation or the cut, it didn't matter. But it didn't happen.

He tried to picture how House would be looking at him, but the constant movement of the fingers on his hand made him think House wasn't looking at him at all.

Of course House would be shocked, but probably only that he was here, not that something was wrong with him. He couldn't imagine House looking at him with pity, House just didn't do that. He smiled a little to himself, as he realized that the most likely expression to be on House's face was one of annoyance.

House pulled his hand over his head again, he heard a drawer opening, and then felt a hand drawing his down.

He felt a burn, as the anesthetic was pushed into the muscles on his hand, then slight tugging pressure, as House sutured the edges of the skin back together.

A finger traveled over the palm of his injured hand four times, in a looping motion–four stitches. House wasn't going to say anything if Chase didn't.

Chase nodded.

He felt cool antiseptic cream being spread over the cut, then gauze being taped over the area surrounding it.

He heard a cabinet door opening, some boxes being shifted, then several paper packets being pressed into his good hand.

He felt the shape of the contents of one. Flat, flexible, with a rim that was thinner than the middle. Pre-taped gauze, which was easier to put on than just a large band-aid.

He nodded again, putting them in his bag.

A toothpaste-tube shaped object was placed there next, then removed.

He blinked.

A finger traced a hook shape on his palm, and a single spot of pressure. Question mark.

He shook his head; he already had some neosporin at home.

The tube didn't come back.

Two 'w's were traced next, then a pager was pressed briefly into his palm.

Two weeks. Page him.

Chase nodded, then opened his mouth to ask House not to say anything.

A hand brought his uninjured one up and forward, then pulled it in a zipping motion across House's mouth.

Chase smiled a little, nodding.

Limping footsteps to the door, as Chase got off the table.

The door sounded open, but a hand on his shoulder pushed him behind it.

He heard familiar voices in the lobby, foreman and Cameron.

They faded and he started forward, but the hand pushed back against him, stopping his motion physically, not just communicating.

He heard the reason a moment later, which proved to be Cuddy yelling at House, clicking heels coming closer.

House whispered something to him, quickly, as he was heading out the door, "Stay here. This might take a minute."

Chase waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And was about to give up on waiting and risk someone seeing him, when the door opened, and limping footsteps came in.

The door closed, and he heard a long sigh.

He opened his mouth, but a finger placed over it stopped him.

He nodded. It wasn't because someone might hear, it was because House didn't want to talk, but he would follow it just the same.

Finally the door opened again, and House let him go past.

He stood for a moment, trying to get his bearings in the crowded lobby. He knew where the doors were in relation to the exam room, but the number of people between them was an issue.

He hated this. It made his head spin.

Finger on his palm, question mark again.

He grimaced and nodded.

The finger hooked around his pinky, leading him through the crowd with a minimum of embarrassment.

It put his hand on the cold brushed steel handle of the outermost door, and he nodded.

As he pushed the door open, there was a prickly feeling on the back of his neck, like someone was watching him.

As soon as he reached the vehicle honking at him to let him know which engine rumble was his ride, the feeling disappeared.

He smiled a little to himself.

House had made sure he got to his ride.

Two weeks later, he was sitting in the back of a cab, waiting for some sort of reply from House after paging him.

His phone rang.

He opened it.

"Cameron's in the clinic. I can't get rid of her. I'll meet you at the side entrance to the ER in three minutes."

"Ok."

House hung up.

Chase smiled a little, again, asking the cab driver to pull around to the correct part of the sidewalk.

As he reached forward, searching for the handle, the door opened and a hand touched his.

"Thanks."

A rustle that was probably a shrug.

It was loud and busy and he wasn't that familiar with the layout, so he put out his hand. House took it, leading him in.

House guided him to a bed, and closed the curtain around him.

"It doesn't look too bad. The stitches look like they can come out now, but you should keep an eye on it. Watch for infection, 'cause it isn't all the way closed yet."

"You're doing that on purpose."

"Yep."

Chase smiled.

"Though, you really should be careful that it doesn't get infected. I wasn't teasing about that part."

Chase nodded.

House put a basin in Chase's lap, and brought the injured hand over it, then rinsed the cut and sutures with cool liquid.

A slight tug on each of the four sutures, then a release of tension on the first one, and another tug on that one.

As House was cutting the second one, a loud crash sounded from outside, and Chase jerked, surprised.

He closed his eyes reflexively, hoping he hadn't knocked the knife House had been holding.

"Sorry." he muttered.

House didn't do anything.

"House?"

"Hold on. Stay here, I don't know who's out there right now. I think somebody might have hit your cab."

"Ok."

The curtains rustled a little, then he heard House limping away, until the distinctive footsteps mixed in with all the other ones.

He heard someone yelling the description of someone, and a rush of feet.

He tensed, as he heard someone heading towards him, then grimaced and lowered his head as he heard Cuddy's voice, saying that his bed was empty.

"Got a patient in that one." said House's voice, loudly, from a ways away.

"Since when do you... whatever, are they in worse condition than this guy? I think not. Someone get a wheelchair for Dr. House's patient so we can clear the bed. Get your patient ready to move, House."

Limping footsteps entered through the curtain.

Hand on his elbow.

"Keep your head down and don't say anything. And don't turn your head to the left, keep it facing right."

Chase nodded.

House pulled him through the curtains, then straight into the crowd.

Chase clenched his teeth.

He hated crowds.

He hated them.

The were too noisy, too confusing, they were overwhelming, they were....

"House."

"Don't say anything."

"House." repeated Chase, gripping the side of House's shirt.

He felt House pause, then felt the direction change, and the space around him clear a little, and heard the shape and acoustics of the area they were in change, as they went through a doorway. It sounded like a bathroom. A small one. Single person, lockable door.

He sniffed, shaking, and slid down the wall House guided him to.

It was stupid, it was embarrassing, it was pathetic, and he had done it in front of House.

He heard the door lock, limping footsteps, running water, limping footsteps, and felt the shock of something cold and wet touching his face.

He gasped, jerking away from it.

It left his face, he heard a grunt and awkward movements, then felt a hand set the cold thing in his uninjured hand.

Wet paper towel.

He took a deep breath, wiping his face with it.

"I'm sorry." he muttered, directing his eyes down and to the side, though he couldn't see House if he tried.

A long sigh and a rustle.

"Hand."

Chase held out the hand holding the paper towel.

"The other one, idiot."

Chase grimaced, switching hands.

House finished pulling the stitches.

"It was your cab, by the way."

"Oh. Damn...."

"If you start feeling guilty, I swear I'll slap you."

Chase shook his head.

He might be responsible for the cabbie being there in the first place, but not for the fact he got hit.

"Good. Some people think it's wrong to hit a cripple."

"The only reason to say that is 'cause you want to see my reaction to you calling me a cripple."

"True."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Well, am I pitiable, or just pathetic?"

Chase could have sworn he _heard_ House grin.

"You're...."

Chase raised an eyebrow, waiting for the end of the sentence.

"House?"

"If I was sappy in any way or form, I'd say I was proud of you."

Chase said nothing for a while.

"For not acting all dramatic?" he asked finally.

"I looked up what you'd been doing, after you'd left the clinic. The 24/7 consult thing was smart. You used what you had, and didn't mope about what you didn't have. And from the looks of it, you've gotten better at using what you have than you were when you were working here."

Chase closed his eyes.

"That's what I'd say if I were at all sappy, anyway. But I'm not. So I won't say it."

Chase took another moment. Then he opened his eyes and smiled, "Of course."

"Glad we got that cleared up. You need a ride home?"

"What?" asked Chase, surprised.

"Do you want a ride home, or do you want to hide in the bathroom until another cab gets here."

"There has got to be a catch."

"Motorcycle. Could be a catch, could be a treat, I don't know."

"Why?"

"Because if you hide in the bathroom until another cab gets here, then I'll have to hide in the bathroom until another cab gets here."

Chase considered for a while.

"Ok."

Chase heard a grunt, some rustling as House got awkwardly to his feet, the noise of the waiting room growing suddenly louder as the door opened, and then felt a hand on his arm.

Then the hand let go.

Chase blinked.

"What? Somebody there?"

The hand touched his briefly again, and he realized it hadn't withdrawn, just let go.

He smiled, gripping the edge of House's sleeve.

House wasn't going to lead him, he was going to follow House.

He... _liked_ this. He liked being out of his apartment, he liked being somewhere familiar but different, but... most of all, he liked finding out that he hadn't lost respect. That he had gained it.

After several ducks into closets, they made it to the differential room and House's office, to get House's helmet.

Chase stopped, sniffing.

"What?"

"You've got a neuro case. Or one with neurological symptoms."

He heard House turn to look at him.

Chase grinned, "foreman always gets to the coffee maker first when there's neurology involved. He rips the package a little weird, and some of the grounds spill on the hot plate when he puts them in the filter. He was doing that when you started letting him make coffee again after he was sick. I didn't say anything 'cause he glared at me when I saw. I smelled burnt coffee grounds, which is how I knew."

Chase knew House would be smiling, but was surprised when he heard a chuckle.

"Just don't start wearing fancy sneakers, kay?"

Chase laughed.

"Foreman couldn't handle the competition."

He heard a snort, then followed House in as the door opened.

Chase waited a few seconds, then heard rustling–House had to pack his backpack.

He made his way further in, sitting on the low bookcase right next to the door, one of his usual seats back when he had worked for House.

"Cameron always makes the flavored kind, usually chocolate or hazelnut, so that's easy to tell."

He heard a 'fwump', probably House slinging the backpack over his shoulder, then a clatter, probably the cane and the helmet.

"What about me?"

Chase smiled a little.

"You always made it really strong. But not so strong it was unpleasant, just strong enough to be really good."

A pause, then a slight chuckle, and the breeze of House going past him and opening the door.

"Before foreman got sick, he made it really strong too, but he overdid it." added Chase, following the sound of House's distinctive footsteps, rather than holding on to him. The hallway was quiet, other than them, so there wasn't any risk of him getting confused and following the wrong footsteps.

"You always took the lid off and waited for everyone to get theirs first when you made it." said House, making Chase blink, "Why'd you do that? I could never figure out why. It wasn't 'cause of the temperature, you'd drink the first cup of anybody else's."

Chase shrugged, silent. It was stupid.

House stopped.

"What?"

"My dad always said the person who made it got the first cup, and got it the hottest. That always irritated me, so I do it the opposite way. It's stupid."

House started walking again.

"I lick the slush off the side of cups after I get crushed ice. Before I take a sip of the water, I lick it off. I used to get yelled at for doing it. That's the only reason I kept doing it."

Chase blinked.

What was this conversation?

Was it about drinks, random habits, or making a connection?

Chase couldn't tell, any more than he could tell what color House's shirt was.

He sighed, following House towards the freight elevator they had taken to get to this floor.

How, exactly, House had gotten the key to operate this elevator, Chase had no idea, and guessed he probably didn't want to find out.

By the time they made it to House's bike, Chase was thoroughly jumpy, and House was limping slightly more heavily than usual, from all the quick ducks into closets and such.

Chase heard some rustling, which he guessed was House putting on the helmet and getting on the bike. Then a hand touched his and he edged closer to the bike.

House steadied and directed him as he got on, then paused for a moment, and pulled Chase's hands around his waist.

"I'm not Cameron."

"No, but you're not gonna see the stuff in front of us, so if I swerve you won't get any warning, and I don't want to have to drag you right back to the ER because you fell off."

"Good point."

House started the bike, and they pulled out.

Chase was glad he was allowed to hold on like he was.


	2. Chapter 2

The feeling of wind rushing past him, plucking at his clothes. The thousands of smells, pleasant and not. The sheer number and variety of sounds being carried towards him on the wind.

Chase didn't realize he was holding House very tightly around the waist, didn't realize that he was straining forward, listening, sniffing, feeling.

House could feel it, but said nothing, and did nothing to prevent it. Just smiled and tried to breathe higher up in his chest, because Chase was squishing the lower parts.

It didn't occur to Chase, until they pulled up in front of it, that House shouldn't technically know where his apartment was.

Chase didn't really care, and wasn't at all surprised.

"Thanks." he said awkwardly, finally realizing how tightly he had been holding.

"Be careful about the cut."

Chase nodded, hand on the railing as he walked up the steps to the front door of his building.

"Chase."

Chase turned, even though he could hear perfectly well facing away from House.

"Wilson and Cuddy have been trying to get me to replace you for the past four months. I can't find anyone who comes anywhere near close to replacing you who can stand me. It's getting really annoying. I'd rather not have to keep trying."

"I can't." said Chase, immediately.

"Yes you can. The only thing stopping you is you saying you can't. That's stupid. You can not want to, and you can be not ready to face everyone, but I'm not gonna let you make a decision based on the completely _false_ belief that you _can't_ do at _least_ twenty percent _better_ than you did before you left, when I'm _sure_ you _can_," snapped House, sounding seriously annoyed.

Chase nodded calmly, unlocked the door, walked in, closed it behind him, and slid down the wall, tears forming in his eyes and spilling onto his cheeks.

House....

How could someone who hated dealing with people so much know _exactly_ what he needed to hear?

And why did he bring himself to say it?

Chase wasn't sad.

That wasn't why he was crying.

He was happy.

So happy.

Happy.

For the first time in five months.

He was happy.

Over the moon happy.

A week later, he still hadn't made a decision.

He wanted to go back. But, like House had said, he wasn't sure he was ready to face everyone.

He was checking his email, fingers going over the refreshable braille display as he opened each one.

''

He clicked it, sighing.

Cameron had kept trying the longest, she had sent him one email every week for the last three months–on Tuesday.

Then he blinked, as it formed the the 'to' address.

It was the 24/7 consult email, not his personal one.

His mouth twitched.

'Dear Diagnosis Needed, I've got a patient with multi-system involvement. My colleague thinks it's an infection, but I think it's lupus. I've attached a scan of the patient's file. The only thing is my boss won't accept your consult unless you actually come to our office... if you think it's lupus, could you tell me why, so I can make the argument myself?  
Sincerely, Alison Cameron'

Chase paused for a long time, thinking.

Then he smiled to himself.

'Dear Alison Cameron,

It's never lupus.

–DN

P.S. I think I might actually give you that face-to-face consult.'

House grinned, reading the email Cameron had shoved at him under the impression it had been him that had written it.

"Got tell Cuddy to leave off about Chase. I'm not interviewing anymore." announced House, entering Wilson's office.

Wilson looked at him, "You choose someone?"

House shook his head.

"Don't need a replacement."

"You do, and you know it. I'm not telling Cuddy that because you're in denial _again_."

House shook his head again.

"Just tell her to cancel the next few interviews. Seriously, there's a reason. I've got someone coming in."

Wilson sighed, nodding.

House looked up, as a careful knock sounded on his office door.

He smiled, glancing into the differential room as he got up, grinning further at the shocked looks on Cameron and foreman's faces.

He opened the door.

"Dr. Chase."

"Dr. House."

Chase broke into a grin, "How freaked do they look?"

"Pretty freaked. I think Cameron's gonna faint. Foreman sprayed his coffee all over the table."

Chase laughed. This had definitely been worth the coaching over the weekend, so Chase could turn up at the diagnostics office alone.

Foreman finally recovered enough to stop openly gaping, and stood, walking though the door into House's office.

"Foreman." said House under his breath.

Foreman stopped a few feet away from Chase, open-mouthed.

"Why didn't you tell us?"he asked finally, "and what the hell happened?"

Chase shrugged.

"I didn't want you to get upset. Figured you'd be happier thinking I was just a jerk, 'cause I had to leave no matter what."

"But... what happened? And are you back, or just visiting?"

Chase turned his head towards House briefly, confirming his half.

"He's back," said House, sealing the deal.

Foreman looked straight at Chase.

"What happened?"

House raised his eyebrows, watching with interest as Chase turned his head so that he would be looking directly at foreman.

"Nothing."

"But–"

"Nothing."

A slow grin started to spread across House's face.

"What–"

"Nothing."

"Chase, what–"

"Nothing."

Foreman stared at him.

"Oh, Chase. You mind telling Cameron that 'DN' is _not_ me? 'Cause she seems to think she has irrefutable proof that it is."

Chase laughed.

"Yeah, I'll tell her that."

Chase headed towards the door to the differential room, but missed by a few feet, feeling for the handle where it wasn't.

"To your right." said House.

"Thanks."

Foreman looked at House, angry.

"You knew! You knew, and you didn't tell us! Why the hell didn't you tell us?! Just 'cause you don't want anybody to care doesn't mean he doesn't!"

"I didn't know."

"You weren't the least bit surprised."

"Because my surprise came three weeks ago, when he showed up in the clinic 'cause he needed stitches in his hand. That's when I found out."

Foreman glared at him.

"Why didn't you tell us then?"

"Because he didn't want me to."

"Like that's _ever_ stopped you before!"

"There are lines I don't cross. This was one of them. Yell all you want, I don't care."

"Why'd he come to you?!"

"He came at eight in the morning, he tried to leave when he realized it was me."

"So he was nervous! That's no reason to–"

"Um, foreman... I'm not deaf. I can hear everything you two are saying." said Chase, poking his head back through the door.

Foreman looked between him and House, spluttering.

House looked past Chase, into the differential room, where Cameron was still sitting, completely stunned.

He pushed past foreman, touched Chase on the shoulder to get him to move, and slammed his cane down on the table right in front of Cameron.

She jumped straight out of her chair, yelping.

Chase blinked, startled, but grinned as he guessed what had happened.

"You know, just 'cause he can't tell you're staring doesn't mean it's polite." said House gruffly, leaning into Cameron's face.

Cameron backed up, nearly knocking her chair over in the process.

"I'm sorry. Chase, I'm sorry." she said, getting up, and fleeing out the door into the hallway.

"Cam?" asked Chase, slightly confused.

"She's just freaked. She'll get over it." said House, sitting on the table and nudging a chair towards Chase's searching hands with his left foot.

Foreman had calmed significantly, and was now looking between the two with a significant amount of interest. He had never seen House act like that, not with anyone. Not even Wilson.

Chase sat down with a relieved sigh.

Chase sighed, leaning forward and closing his eyes, face in the crook of his elbow.

House was still in the room, but hadn't made any noise for a while.

"You tire easily," observed House calmly.

Chase lifted his head momentarily, about to deny the fact, but sighed, and gave up, laying it back down almost as soon as he had raised it.

"Yes, I do."

"And you don't seem to get hungry."

Chase sighed.

"And my hair is shorter than it used to be, and my wrist doesn't bend all the way because I broke it having a seizure, and–"

"I don't want to push. I'm sorry. It's a reflex."

Chase was silent for a while.

"Thank you."

House didn't say anything in reply.

Chase sighed, waiting for the bus on the bench outside the hospital.

He heard a rumble, but it wasn't the bus, wasn't nearly big enough.

"Need a ride?"

Ah, no wonder it sounded familiar.

House.

"Why are you asking? You're not stuck in a bathroom this time."

"Because sitting on bus benches 'cause you can't drive sucks. Too much time to think."

Chase blinked.

"What?"

"Forget it. You want a ride or not?"

Chase smiled a little, nodding.

Getting on was much easier this time, he knew what he was doing, but the ride was just as enthralling. At least he didn't squish House that time.

He smiled and waved as the sound of the motorcycle roared, then started to fade away as House pulled away from his apartment building.

Chase kept smiling to himself all the way inside.

Then it faded, about as quickly as the sound of House's motorcycle had.

He didn't like being alone here. Or anywhere, for that matter. But especially here.

Three days later, he still hadn't had to take a bus or cab home.

The morning of the forth day brought a rumbling sound outside his front wall.

It was weird, and it was freaking him out slightly, but it was also nice. Nice to know that somebody still gave enough of a damn to pick him up in the morning and drop him off at night. Even if it was a misanthropic bastard like House.

He wandered out, still in his pajamas.

"You want some coffee?" he asked, scratching his hand through his mussed hair.

A laugh, and the sound of the engine cutting out.

"Guess I'm early."

"Yeah. Actually, you woke me up."

"Sorry."

"Did you seriously just apologize?"

He heard House snicker, and walked sleepily back into his apartment.

Limping footsteps and a few grunts came up the steps behind him, making him smile.

He added another few scoops of grounds to the coffee maker, as well as another cup and a half of water.

He flicked the switch on, then reached into the cupboard, getting two mugs–the front two out of the three he owned--as well as a bowl for himself.

He set them down, pulled the sugar and his cereal out of a cabinet, and poured himself a bowl of multi-grain cheerios.

Three spoons came out of a drawer under the counter, milk and cream out of the refrigerator.

They ate in relative silence, after which Chase went to get dressed, and House looked around the younger doctor's apartment.

He still had a lot of normal books, but they were interspersed with braile ones.

House yawned, leaning back in his recliner, about to close his eyes.

He was doing this partially because he was tired, but mostly because he was trying very hard to not analyze Chase into the ground.

Chase didn't want to tell people.

House had said he wouldn't push.

But, dammit, he wanted to know the answer!

He quirked one eye open, as he heard sounds from the differential room.

Urgh, Cameron had finally gotten over her shock.

Chase apparently hadn't lost any libido as a result of whatever had happened.

House watched with only mild interest for a few more seconds, then started to close his eyes.

He stopped, and opened them again, as Cameron pulled back, staring at Chase.

She had been running her hands through his hair.

Now she looked like she was going to cry.

Chase sighed, shaking his head, and putting a hand tentatively out, reaching for her shoulder.

Cameron asked him something.

He hesitated, then shook his head.

Cameron started to lean back in, but then stood up, hand over her face, and hurried out.

Chase just sat there, confused light blue eyes directed at the spot Cameron had been in, blond eyebrows touching, mouth open a little bit, as though about to say something.

House sighed, shaking his head.

The lower lip was trembling a little bit.

Chase closed his mouth, shut his eyes, got off the chair, and sat down in a corner, face buried in his knees.

House waited a while, but the situation didn't change of its own accord.

He got up, limping into the differential room.

He saw Chase tense, shoving his face further out of sight.

"I didn't mean to figure it out. But I did, watching that just now. I'm sorry."

Chase sniffed.

"Thank you."

He sniffed again.

"Thank you, House. Please go away now."

House stood there, watching, standing on the edge.

Oh, damn it all. Chase wasn't going to hurt him. Chase was the one who was hurt.

Chase jumped, as a hand gently rested on his shoulder.

Then he sniffed, raising his head from his knees and resting it sideways against the hand, eyes still closed.

"Thank you," he said, so quietly House barely caught it.


	3. Chapter 3

Chase sighed, sitting in his typical chair in the differential room, fingers roaming lazily over the bumps and ridges of the machine in front of him.

It had apparently just turned up, one morning, in place of the old printer in the corner, connected to the differential room computer by a long cord.

Foreman had printed something, walked over, and stopped.

Chase had raised his head at the stop, having heard that the sound of the printer was off.

"Paper jam?" he guessed, hopefully. It was fun, when things like that turned out right even though he couldn't see them.

Foreman had walked over, put the sheet down in front of Chase, and put Chase's hand on the sheet.

"Somebody replaced the ink printer with a braille printer?"

"Yeah. I take it wasn't you, then."

Chase had shaken his head–he certainly wouldn't have done that, especially not without asking first.

Inquires had been made, but nobody in the entire hospital confessed to having bought or installed the thing. Which was interesting, because the instructions were actually printed in braille, with no pictures, according to foreman.

It remained a mystery–Chase privately thought it might have been Wilson with the help of a patient–until one day, when Chase's stick and House's cane had gotten tangled up in the doorway, and they had both dropped their papers.

House had sorted them back out, grunting occasionally as he knelt, then snickering for no apparent reason.

"What?" asked Chase.

"The adventures of McSteamy and the dirty mistress' club?" House had asked, dryly.

Chase had blushed, and been glad that no one else was in the room.

Then he had blinked.

"Wait... how did...."

"I was bored at one point or another, and it seemed like a useful thing to know. Mostly I was bored."

"It was you. The printer. Nobody else knows the password to the computer, and can read braille."

A quiet chuckle.

"A few years ago, you wouldn't have ever guessed that."

"A few years ago, I wouldn't have needed to."

"Point."

House had gotten up, handed Chase his papers, and limped into the office.

Chase had considered for a moment, then gone back to sit at the table.

Like House had any right to object to people reading... odd things, at work. And anyway, it wasn't _technically_ porn.... ok, parts of it were porn. Most of it was porn. But it was well-written porn with a good and extensive backstory.

Chase sighed, sitting on the steps out of his apartment, waiting.

He pressed the button on his watch.

9:48.

House was more than forty-five minutes late.

Chase shook his head, pulling out his phone to call House and find out what was going on.

As he touched it, it started buzzing.

"Hello?" he asked, opening it.

"Chase?"

"Yeah, what's going on?"

"There's a big traffic jam about a block away from your street. Water main broke, I think. Been stuck in it for the past half hour. You probably want to call a cab, the bus is stuck in the same jam as me. And it's all grid-locked, nobody can turn around to get out of the mess."

"Oh. Thanks for calling. I hope it clears up soon."

A snort, then the sound of House's phone snapping shut.

Chase closed his own phone, thinking.

House sighed, leaning forward to rest his chin on the space between the handlebars of his bike, the kickstand down, eyes closed.

This sucked.

And what was he supposed to tell Cuddy when she called him to lecture? The truth, that he was stuck in traffic? This was probably the only traffic in town. But... what else would explain both his and Chase's lateness?

He resigned himself to at least the part of the truth where the bus was stuck and Chase needed a ride.

There was a shout to his right, but he ignored it. It took several repetitions of the sound for him to realize the pattern was that of his name.

He sat up, looking around.

Chase, standing on the sidewalk, frowning, about to put his hands to his mouth again.

House gunned his engine and Chase smiled, carefully making his way towards the sound.

It was too tight for House to get off and help, because there wasn't room for him to use his cane, but he directed Chase around a spot where two cars were actually touching just by yelling to him.

"Why didn't you call a cab?" he asked, as Chase finally reached him.

"Because cabs are boring and the last time I called one the driver got hit waiting for me."

House reached out, giving Chase a very light slap on the cheek. If Chase hadn't remembered what House had said back when they had been hiding in a bathroom on an emergency department hallway, about slapping him for feeling guilty, he would have thought House was comforting him.

He just smiled, reaching out for the back of House's jacket to steady himself while he got on.

They sat there for a while, too sleepy to say much.

Then it occurred to Chase that this was probably the one time he would have a chance to get a really private conversation with House. One that House couldn't flee.

"Why're you doing all this?"

House grunted sleepily.

"House."

House jerked a little.

Chase smiled. Only House would fall asleep on a motorcycle in the middle of a traffic jam....

"What?" he asked.

"How-come you're doing all this? Picking me up, and the printer, and everything like that?"

"Because you proved perfectly well that you don't need help dealing, and as such, helping isn't an insult, it's just acknowledgment that I respect how you handled, and are handling things, as well as understand what you're dealing with, to some degree, at least. Also, you're a blind intensivist. Which is cool."

Chase blinked.

That had been... about twelve times as straight an answer as he had been expecting.

Then he smiled to himself, laughing a little.

"I think you're channeling Wilson's spirit. You'd better make sure he's not dead. And I hope you don't think I can still crack people open and squeeze their hearts back to life, 'cause I can't."

House laughed.

"No, Wilson'd've said something much sappier. And, yeah, I know. But it's still cool."

House's phone rang.

Chase pulled it out of House's jacket, simply because it was awkward for House to get his hand in his pocket without elbowing Chase in the ribs.

He held it forward, but House pushed it back lightly, probably after looking at the caller id.

"What?"

"It's Cuddy. Answer it."

Chase laughed, opening the phone.

"Hello?"

"House, where the hell are you?! You've got a case, and Chase isn't here either! He's got an excuse, there's a traffic jam near his apartment so the bus is probably stuck, but unless you're blind too now...."

"Hi Cuddy."

Silence.

"Chase?"

"Yeah, hi."

"Uh... sorry, no offence meant. But why are you answering House's phone?"

"No offense heard, whether it was meant or not. Because I'm sitting behind him and he thought it would be funny."

"Wait... where are you?"

"On his motorcycle, stuck in the traffic jam near my apartment."

Silence.

"Why?"

"Because he was going to pick me up like usual, but he got stuck in the traffic jam."

Silence.

"Like usual?"

"Like usual."

Silence.

"Can you put House on?"

"Sure."

Chase held out the phone.

"She wants to talk to you."

"Ah."

House took the phone, taking off his helmet at the same time.

"Hi Cuddy."

"You have no clinic duty for the next month."

"Uh... not that I'm complaining, but... why?"

"Because I'm very, very pleased with you."

Chase suddenly jerked, behind House.

"Hang on. What is it?"

"There's a sound, under the road. I guess it's just the water-main, but–"

He was cut off, as House dragged him off the bike, pushed him to the ground, and shoved him under a car.

He felt House scoot in next to him, and was about to ask what the hell was going on, when House yelled at him to cover his ears.

A huge boom sounded from behind them, and hey heard crashes and yells from around them.

Chase lay perfectly still, quivering. House's hands were over his ears, his own having been too awkwardly positioned to get there fast enough.

He dimly heard House coughing, next to him, as the dust settled, having been blown even under the cars.

"House? Are you ok?" asked Chase after a moment, clearing his throat–he hadn't been in the middle of telling House to cover his ears when the explosion had hit, so he hadn't gotten dust all in his mouth and throat, and wasn't coughing.

House didn't answer.

"House?! Are you ok?!"

"Uh... yeah... *cough* think so." said House loudly, letting go of Chase's head.

House seemed to be having trouble hearing, after the boom.

Chase frowned, feeling something dripping onto him from the car.

"Can you see what this is?" he asked loudly.

House grasped his hand, and he heard a penlight click on.

"Yeah, I can see what it is."

Chase would have glared at him, if it would have done any good.

"Sorry. I'm not being glib, it's just... it's blood, alright? Figured it'd be less unpleasant if you didn't know."

"Oh," said Chase, annoyance fading.

"What?"

"OH."

They hadn't heard any large thunks for a while–or, at least, Chase hadn't. House hadn't heard any of them to start with–so they gingerly crawled out from under the car.

Chase started feeling around for House's phone, but couldn't find it.

House gave him a hand up.

"Shit...." muttered House loudly.

"What?" asked Chase, forcefully enough for House to hear.

"The whole block blew up... your street included...."

"What?!"

"I said, the whole–"

"I know what you said!" snapped Chase.

Chase managed to help, as much as it was possible for him to do so, with keeping as many injured people alive as was possible until emergency services arrived.

As soon as the responsibility was gone, he started to shake.

"Is my building seriously gone?" he asked, flatly, over-loud.

"Yes," said House, just as loud.

"I need... I need to see it."

"You can't see it."

"I know... I... it has to be real."

He heard House sigh.

Then a hand took his, and he felt himself being led carefully between cars and blocks of asphalt and concrete lying in the road.

Chase followed, slowly being led down the familiar street, now filled with rubble and holes.

He could hear House's breathing growing somewhat faster, but knew House would stop if he really needed a break.

Chase blinked, as House stopped.

"This is in front of your building. We're on the sidewalk."

Chase nodded; he knew where they were.

"Ok...."

He heard House sigh, then felt a tug on his hand, and a jolt run through his body, as he felt a broken chunk of brick.

"That's your building."

Chase swallowed.

House was right, it had seriously blown up. The gas lines inside must have exploded, along with the main ones in the street.

"Do you know if any of your neighbors were home? If you tell me, I'll deal with the police."

"I don't know. I don't have much to do with them, and I don't know if their cars were there."

"Ok."

Chase sunk to the ground, head in his hands.

House knelt next to him, and he leaned into the older doctor's shoulder.

"Come on. You can't sit here forever."

Chase nodded, shaking.

House led him back to the cars, and stood him at the corner of a car, so he would have some support as he shivered, then limped a few feet away.

"Well, it's awful dusty, it needs a new windshield, and both sides of it are scraped now, but it looks like it should run, at least."

Chase nodded, lower lip trembling. He wasn't about to cry, he was just completely overwhelmed.

He heard House talking to someone, then a crunch that made him jolt and press himself against the car he was anchoring himself on, until House took his hand, led him to the motorcycle, and pulled out of there.

The next time Chase was really aware of what was going on, he was on something soft but lumpy, curled partially on top of something warm but... bony?

He reached out, gently running his fingers over the face.

High cheekbones, thin cheeks, long face, straight nose, dusty stubble.

House.

He considered for a moment, then decided that if House didn't care, he didn't care, and laid his head back down.

He remembered something of the layout of House's apartment, but he had no idea if everything was still in the same place, or if his memories were good enough to be of any help. He had no idea where his stick was, or anything else that would be helpful.

As he shifted, it must have disturbed House, because he grunted and sat up.

"Nnng?"

"I'm guessing I'm at your apartment?"

"Mmm... yeah."

House yawned, and Chase scooted off of him.

"Why'd you bring me here?"

"Because you looked like you were about to faint, and Cameron would have been insufferable if she saw you all shaky and covered in dust. Speaking of which...."

"What?"

"I forgot to tell Cuddy we're not dead."

Chase laughed, shaking his head, as he swung his feet off the couch.

"Soo... before you do that... um, I need to pee."

House snorted, stood with a grunt, and put his hand beneath Chase's.

Chase took it, and House got him to the bathroom.

"Kitchen's a straight walk to the left when you come out. Just follow the wall till you hit a doorway."

"Okay."

A few minutes later, Chase was working his way towards the kitchen, when he heard a loud noise from the direction he was headed.

He frowned, and took a few long steps, just trailing his hand along the wall.

"Are you ok?" he asked, tentatively, standing the in the doorway.

"Urng... yeah. I got blown over by Cuddy's rant."

Chase tilted his head, "Seriously, what happened?"

House sighed.

"I couldn't find my cane, so I had to leave without it. I still had a stupid four point one from a long time ago, but I caught it on the stool and tripped."

"Oh." said Chase, holding back a snicker.

He put out his hand, extending it downwards.

"Over here."

Chase took a step in, so House could actually reach the hand.

He blinked, surprised, when he felt a tug, but pulled House to his feet.

"Since when do you let someone help you up? That time Wilson's dog messed up your cane you didn't let me help you."

"As a general rule, if someone's got it worse than you do, you have a very low risk of them pitying you."

Chase paused.

Then he laughed.

"I guess that's true."

An hour and a drop by the scene of the explosion to find House's cane and Chase's stick later, they were sitting at the differential room table, with Cameron hovering nervously in a corner, Wilson sitting on a low bookcase, and everybody Chase had ever had anything to do with dropping by to offer help, or a place to stay, or anything else they could think of.

After almost and hour of this Chase finally got up, locked the door, closed the blinds, and leaned against the glass, sighing.

"I'm guessing it's safe to assume you don't need to sleep on my couch." commented foreman, who had been reading his newspaper throughout the entire thing.

"God... I don't even know who those people were. I didn't recognize their voices, I'm not sure I've ever done more than say hello to them once or twice...."

Foreman snorted.

A side effect, it seemed, of working for the diagnostics department, was that you were utterly shocked when anyone did something nice, and completely overwhelmed when that many people did it.

"Did you guys recognize any of them?" asked Chase, wearily.

"Um, Cuddy's old assistant...." said Cameron, frowning.

"Mike the gay RN, the quiet nurse with the pigtail braids, nurse Brenda, the two blond NICU nurses, the redheaded NICU intern who used to have braces, though she doesn't anymore, all four NICU residents, the three residents and two interns from gynecology, three of the residents from peds, the one with the balloon animals, the one with the green ties, and the one with mismatched socks and hangover every Monday, the wife of a surgeon we blackmailed with the fact he had been cheating, the day shift ER attending and the two fifth year residents of the same shift, the Puerto Rican lab technician that likes blue eyes, and the four surgeons that aren't whiney about their numbers."

Cameron and foreman both stared at House.

Chase turned his face in House's direction with his mouth open.

Wilson just smiled and shook his head.

House hadn't noticed any of their reactions, he had been sitting in the chair next to the computer, feet propped up on the desk, reading the file Cuddy had sent by fax... which was unfortunate for two of the diagnostics team, because the fax number now connected to "Spot", the braille printer.


	4. Chapter 4

"It's gotta be Wagner's," said Chase, thinking.

"No way. There was no evidence of that on the scans," objected Foreman.

"He doesn't know that." said Cameron.

Chase and foreman both blinked.

"Uh, yeah, I do, 'cause Foreman already said it. My idea was wrong, I forgot about the scan," said Chase, frowning.

"Sorry."

Foreman went to exchange a meaningful look with Chase, but stifled the urge.

"What about neurofibromitosis?" asked Chase, still frowning.

House looked up from playing with his gameboy to watch—not that Chase noticed.

"No skin symptoms, and they would have presented by now, if it was causing these symptoms. Jeeze Chase, just 'cause you can't see the patient doesn't mean you can't listen."

Chase rolled his eyes in Foreman's direction.

"Foreman, that's not–" started Cameron.

"What about scarlet fever? Could lead to valve stenosis we saw. Cameron could have missed the immune reaction."

Foreman looked over his shoulder at House, who had switched off his gameboy, watching, eyes narrowed. Chase heard the beeping from the device stop, and smiled a little to himself.

"I didn't miss anything! There was a arrhythmia, but we didn't see any valve stenosis on the echo! If you're so sure it's my mistake, you can do the test again yourself!"

Cameron was standing now, glaring at Chase.

Chase was smiling, broadly.

Cameron covered her mouth.

"Chase... I'm sorry. Sorry. I'm—"

"Finally standing up to me," interrupted Chase.

House snickered.

"I've been trying to get you to do that for the last ten minutes. Foreman's right, I do have ears. I know there's no rash, no stenosis, no mistake on the ANA. The problem was, you knew that too, but you kept defending me. Stop. The optic nerve chasm and the optic tracts have nothing to do with how sensitive my feelings are. So stop defending me, ok?"

Cameron stared at him for a long time.

Then she ran out of the room.

Chase sighed.

"It wasn't just there. I'm guessing your hypothalamus, given the massive amounts of ice you consumed when the air conditioner conked out."  
Chase turned towards House.

"Uh, yeah. You're right. But that's scarier, less obvious, and telling her that was involved would have made her even less likely to stop pitying me."

"I don't think that's pity," said House, thoughtfully, "I think that's being extremely uncomfortable about a memory and it's reoccurrence. That is—someone she cares about getting brain cancer."

"Wait..." said Foreman, frowning and completely unsurprised by the diagnosis, "You're living together?"

"Only in the sense of living in the same place by necessity because my apartment blew up."

"Half the hospital offered to have you stay with them."

"I didn't know any of them very well, and I've never been to any of their homes. I would have had to learn the layout from scratch and I'm not very good at that."

"So you decided living with House would be easier. And he went along with it," Foreman looked at House, "Why?"

House shrugged, "'cause he showed up at the bus stop but didn't get on the bus."

Foreman frowned, narrowing his eyes.

"You don't mind." he said finally, in an incredulous tone, "You seriously don't mind."

House smirked, and turned on his gameboy.

Foreman turned back to look at Chase, who blinked for a moment, then smiled a little, shaking his head.

After that, House and Chase stopped coming in different entrances, which they had only been doing so no one would start some sort of weird rumor.

Cuddy asked Wilson what was going on, and if House had actually made a second friend.

Wilson had told her that nothing in particular was 'going on', and that, though he had a tentative hope that at least the second might eventually become the case, so far it was just mutual lack of discomfort, and possibly a little well-hidden concern on House's part.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Chase sighed, curling up on the sofa and grabbing the pillow from underneath it, as House turned the TV off and limped towards the bedroom.

Then he blinked, as the sounds stopped short of the door.

He heard a puff sound, of the air being forced out of a cushion.

Chase sat up, frowning.

Then blinked, smiling, as the first few notes reached his ears.

The notes petered out after a while, and he frowned. He liked it when house played.

There was a long silence, until he heard House sigh.

"Chase."

"Yeah?"

"Come here."

House blinked, as he entered the living room to find Chase still curled up on the couch, blanket pulled tight around him.

"Uh... we need to leave in negative three minutes. Patient emergency."

"Go ahead. I can't go anywhere right now. I'll call a cab later."

House put his hand on Chase's forehead, briefly.

"How cold are you?"

"I don't know, your thermometer doesn't talk."

"Lemme see."

Chase handed him the thermometer.

"95.4."

"Shit!"

Chase pulled the blanket even tighter around himself.

House limped into the bedroom, and came back carrying a quilt and a heating pad. He dumped the quilt on Chase, then went to plug in the pad.

Ten minutes later, the thermometer read 95.7 and Chase was still blue tinged.

House sighed, and poked Chase in the shoulder.

"Move."

"House, I really need to just stay--"

"You need to warm up. Moving will facilitate that."

"Getting out from under the blanket won't."

"I never said get up, just scoot over."

Chase blinked, hesitating. Then he moved a little bit.

Chase felt the couch dip, then warm arms encircling his shoulders, pulling him towards the dip.

"Seriously?" he asked.

"Just don't want to cause injury to any innocent cabbies."

Chase laughed, and allowed himself to be pulled on top of the warm, lanky form.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Maybe an hour later, Chase groaned, opening his eyes.

He was still on the couch. On House. The phone was ringing. House wasn't answering it. House was still holding him around the shoulders. He could hear House snoring.

A smile formed on Chase's lips.

He shifted himself into a more comfortable position, and closed his eyes.

At that point in time, he didn't know that the two body heats under the quilt would soon raise his body temperature above 106. at that point, he didn't know he would soon be dragged into House's tub, submerged in freezing cold water, and be restrained to prevent his injuring himself in his delirium. He didn't know that he would soon be rushed to the hospital wrapped in cooling blankets, which would be changed to heating blankets as his hypothalamus stopped not working, and started overdoing it. He didn't know he would soon be lying on a hospital bed, with everyone staring at his unconscious form, not because of everything wrong with his body, but because of the completely and totally shocking actions of the person gently putting the thermometer probe under his tongue for the fifth time in ten minutes, from their positing of sitting behind him on the bed, his head resting back on their shoulder. He knew none of that. Right then, at that moment, everything was as good as it had ever been. And he was happy.

Ten minutes later, all hell broke loose inside his body.

Chase groaned, opening his eyes. Someone behind him, gently worming something under his tongue.

"Mmm... 'm not cold anymore."

A pause in the wiggling of the object. Then it moved again, and Chase sighed.

"I'm fine, ok? I can tell when I'm cold, and I can tell when I'm warm. I'm fine now."

No answer, though the probe stopped moving.

"House?"

"Yeah. Right, fine."

Chase sighed, rolling his eyes, and stood up off the edge of the couch. Except it wasn't the couch. It was two feet higher than the couch, and it was only House's hands under his armpits that kept him from falling.

A long pause.

"What happened?"

"You over-heated. Then you got hypothermic again. Then hyperthermic. Then you had a seizure. Then hypothermic. Then hyperthermic. Then hypothermic. Then your heart stopped. Then hyperthermic. Then your heart stopped again. Then hypothermic. Then stable. Then... I don't know, the next then hasn't happened yet."

"Uh... oh."

Silence.

"House?"

"What?"

"Why are you still holding me up?"

"Because.... forget it."

"House, you're _touching_ me. What is it?"

"Shut up."

Chase sighed.

Then he blinked.

"It scared you," he said after a while.

No denial came.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few days later, Chase opened the door after hearing a knock—House was in the bathroom.

"Hello?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

He heard a truck pull away, and sighed, bending down to feel for the package.

It was small, which irritated him slightly because it made it hard to find, and light.

He walked back inside, knocking on the door to the bathroom.

"House? Package came."

"Open it," came back through the door.

"What is it? Can of worms?"

A flushing sound, the sound of water running, and the door opened.

"No. Gimme."

Chase held out the package, following House to the couch.

"What is it, already?"

"Technically it's a talking biofeedback temperature sensor, but I was figuring it would be more useful in making sure you don't boil to death."

Chase blinked, as House told him to take off his shirt.

"Why?"

"Because the probe has to go somewhere and I'm guessing you'd rather it not be visible."

Chase took off his shirt, House clipped the base unit to his belt next to his pager, and Chase stuck the probe onto his side with the medical tape House handed him.

House put his fingers on the buttons, told him what they were labeled and what the instructions said they did, then got up and limped into his bedroom, having hit his limit for humanity that day.

Chase smiled as he heard the door close.

House really did give a damn, he was just terrified of showing it. Though, that wasn't the surprising thing. The surprising thing was that House had let Chase find out.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Chase leaned over, quietly asking House what kind of chips he was holding, as they stood in the cafeteria line.

House didn't answer.

"House?"

"Hang on. I'll be right back."

Limping footsteps going away.

Chase grabbed the edge of the counter.

Dammit, of course House wouldn't think... it had never happened in the cafeteria because House was always with him there, but... it was just as noisy and confusing as the emergency room....

"Chase? Are you ok? You look pale." Cameron's voice.

He could barely stand up, the noise was all around him, he couldn't orient himself...

"Chase."

Hand around his, rough, callused.

"It's ok. Calm down."

"What's wrong?" Cameron again.

"Nothing. Go away." House.

Offended footsteps.

Still too much noise, still--

Arm around his back, leading him out, unsteady lurches...

Quiet.

He sat down, holding his head.

House didn't say anything, just limped off, presumably to get his cane.

By the time he came back, Chase had regained his composure.

"You know... I'm not actually that hungry."

Chase nodded, climbing to his feet.

Then he stopped.

"Why are you doing all this?"

He heard House turn.

"Because it's interesting. You're interesting. Why the hell else would I be doing it?"

House sounded completely surprised by the question.

Chase sighed, relieved.

"What?" asked House, confused by Chase's relief.

"Everybody treats me differently than they used to. It's just nice that some things haven't changed."

A paused, then a snort.

"I never change."

Chase smiled, walking next to House as they headed towards the elevators.

"Hey."

House looked up from his computer screen at his friend.

"Yeah?"

"You're completely fascinated by this, aren't you?"

"By you coming into my office and talking to me? Uh, that'd be a no."

"Bye Chase."

"Oh. Maybe. It's interesting, anyway."

"I think it's a little more than just interesting to you. Cameron said you helped him out of a panic attack. By touching him."

House shrugged.

"Well, since waving my hands and making weird faces wouldn't have done much, I was forced to do something that might have had a little more effect."

Wilson laughed.

Then he left, firm in the belief that something other than just friendship was going on in House's heart. House never touched anyone.


	5. Chapter 5

Chase yawned, leaning back in the chair as he listened to the news.

He pressed a button on his watch, sighing.

"Hey," he started, "House?"

"What?" came from the kitchen.

"Can I ask you something?"

House plopped down on the couch next to him.

"What?"

"Um... there was something... you know, forget it."

"What?"

Chase shook his head.

"Oh come on. What?

Chase shook his head.

"Forget it, I said."

"I suck at that."

Chase sighed.

"I... haven't... seen anyone in over six months. The last time only sort of counted, given it was when I woke up after the explosion, and I was just trying to figure out who the hell I was lying on top of."

He heard House shift a little bit.

"Go ahead."

Chase turned towards him.

"What?"

"Go ahead, Chase."

"Why are you saying yes?"

A pause.

"Because I've been living in the same apartment with you for the last half-year and pretty much accompanying you everywhere outside of it. God forbid _touching_ should occur."

Another pause.

Chase laughed.

"With you you never know."

"Actually _I_ know. It's _you_ that doesn't."

Chase smirked.

Then he reached out, finding House's shoulder.

House swallowed, watching Chase kneel on the couch, his hands carefully moving up to touch the older doctor's face.

The fingers ran over his cheek, brushed over the jaw, lingered at the corners of his eyes....

He saw Chase swallow.

"House?"

"Yeah?" asked House, voice strangely husky.

"Why are you tensing up?"

A pause.

"Because despite touching being ok, it still makes me edgy."

Chase nodded.

"Ok."

Then he frowned.

"House... um..."

"What?"

"These weren't as deep five months ago."

House blinked under Chase's fingers.

Chase was touching the pain lines around his eyes

"Yeah, so? I've gotten older."

"House, I may be blind, but I'm not stupid."

"Seriously. It's not that they're really deeper, the pain's just kind of bad today. It gets stiff in the winter, and it's getting pretty cold out."

Chase swallowed.

"House. Are you BS'ing me?"

The head under his fingers shook side-to-side a little.

He sighed.

"Fine. I still don't know if I believe you, but fine."

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Chase bit his lip, pulling his coat tight around himself.

Dammit.

Cold.

He knew he was cold.

He knew he was probably seriously cold.

He dug his finger down through all the layers, pushing the button on the temperature sensor.

"94.3." it informed him. He calculated the difference between skin temperature and internal temperature.... 97.2. great.

"How far are we?"

"Ten minutes. I can turn around, go home. That'll only be about five."

Chase nodded.

"I think that's probably a good idea."

Three minutes later, Chase pressed the button, "93.4."

House pulled over, made sure the heater was turned up to maximum, talked Chase through climbing into the back seat, climbed in with him, pulled off his coat, pulled off Chase's layers, put them over the younger doctor with his own coat, and sat behind him, head resting back against the cold glass.

Chase bit his lip, waiting.

Neither of them were sure if the warmth they were feeling was purely physical.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Chase sighed, walking out into the living-room.

"House?"

No answer.

He walked forward, frowning.

He knew House had gotten up...

"House?"

He could hear labored breathing from the direction of the couch.

His hands eventually found a shoulder, warm, damp, trembling.

He sat down next to House, hand on the older doctor's back to measure House's breathing.

Ragged, heavy, panting.

"Hey," said Chase, worried, "are you ok? It your leg?"

No answer.

"House?"

A soft, pained sound. If it had come from anybody else, Chase would have called it a whimper.

He bit his lower lip, carefully navigating his way down to House's bad leg.

He found House's hands clenched tightly over it, muscles in his forearms taught.

"Do you need to go to the hospital?"

A rustle.

"Did you just nod? Or shake your head? 'cause that's very useful."

One of the hands lifted off the leg, gripping Chase's hand and turning it so the thumb was facing downwards. He could feel it shaking.

"No. ok."

The hand let go.

"We need to be there soon. Dying patient and all that."

Another rustle.

"House. Seriously, does your common sense go out the window when you're in pain? I can't see what you're d--"

He was interrupted by a sharp gasp coming from the older doctor.

"Ok. Ok, forget it. Forget it. Just... are you sure?"

Another gasp.

Chase lifted himself off his heels, finding House's carotid.

He waited until he heard the slightly louder tick of the minute hand on the wall clock, then started counting until he heard another one..

Shit. That was way too high.

"House, you really need to relax. I know it hurts, but your pulse is close to two hundred. You need to calm down. Relax."

He kept his fingers on the artery, measuring both the pulse rate and the tension of the muscles.

"House, I can't do much by myself, so I need you to communicate with me."

Why wasn't House talking?

"House? House, can you hear what I'm saying?"

Nod, he could feel the skin move under his fingers.

"Ok. Can you answer me?"

Headshake.

"Ok," Chase got up onto the couch, sitting next to House again, his fingers still on the older doctor's neck.

"House, this really seems..."

The pulse was getting even faster.

"House, I'm gonna have to call an ambulance soon, if you don't calm down."

Had that been... had House nodded?

"Do you want me to call an ambulance?"

Very quick, small nod.

Chase reached for the phone, just as he felt the tension leave House's body, as the older doctor slumped against him.

Chase swallowed.

House had seriously passed out from the pain.

He bit his lip, holding House around the shoulders, as he dialed with the other hand.

"Yeah, my friend just collapsed. He's got chronic pain from an injury in his thigh, and he was experiencing severe breakthrough pain, until he passed out. His pulse got over two hundred, but no arrhythmia—no, I'm a doctor, I used to be an intensivist, but now I'm blind, which I suppose you should know. Yeah. I... crap, I don't know the number. There's a B on the door, I know that much, hold on... it's bakery street, there's an orange motorcycle and an old dark gray Chrysler parked out front, I think the door's green. There's a door across the hall, I can go ask what number—oh. Dr. Gregory House. Yeah, Princeton Plainsboro. Ok, thanks. Yeah, I'll remain on the line.

Chase sat, House still unconsciously leaning against him, breathing steadily as he lay there.

Chase gently touched the corners of his eyes.

The wrinkles were definitely deeper than five months ago, even when he was unconscious.

Maybe the sense that he was starting to limp more and more heavily wasn't an illusion after all.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

House groaned, opening his eyes.

It was dark, and really cold.

He could feel a tube going into the vein on the back of his hand, and sighed.

"Chase?" the room was so dark he could barely make out the outlines.

"Hey," said Chase's voice from off to his right, and a searching hand touched his arm, then moved down to his wrist, measuring the pulse there with sensitive fingers, "How's the pain?"

"Better. Why's it so..."

"So what?"

"Dark."

Chase laughed quietly.

"Believe it or not, I actually know the answer to that one. It's the same reason it's so cold, the power was knocked out by the snowstorm. The emergency generators are working, but the second one only sort of, so they're directing all the power to the first and second floors, they moved all the critical care patients down there, everyone who needs machines."

House sighed.

He could see that Chase's outline was bulky, like he was wrapped in a lot of blankets.

"You cold?" he noticed that he himself was covered in a thick fleece thing.

"Yes. But not really cold." he pressed the button on the sensor.

"95.1." it informed them.

"So around 98. that's pushing it."

"Well what am I supposed to do?"

"What you did last time."

"You sure?"

"Dude, it's using me as a heating blanket. Don't try to make this personal, 'cause if you do, I'm not doing it."

"Two guys in the same bed under the covers in the hospital they work at."

A pause.

"Oh. Who cares?"

Chase shrugged, and climbed up with some difficulty, scooting under the covers and spreading his personal blankets out over both of them.

He ended up resting his head on House's shoulder, sighing. The soft warmth felt so good compared to the last seven or so hours of sitting in the cold room.

He could feel House tense a little beneath his cheek, and lifted his head.

"Pain?"

"Yeah. Just a little."

Chase nodded, resting his head back down.

A half hour later, House was woken after dozing off to the sound of Chase's breathing by something touching his thigh.

He looked.

He could see Chase's eyelids jittering, the younger doctor was dreaming.

He swallowed.

He had let Chase in so much... he wondered how the younger doctor would react to being allowed to see the scar the same way he saw faces.

House gently shook the blond's shoulder.

"Hey."

Chase raised his head a little bit, then, realizing what he was touching, started to jerk his hand out from beneath the coverers.

House's hand caught his, though, and gently guided it back down to the depression.

"What?" asked Chase, quietly.

"Go ahead."

"Um.... are you...?"

"Sure? Yes, I am. Go ahead."

Chase bit his lip, hesitantly touching the edge of the scar with the tips of his fingers.

House watched his face as his fingers carefully mapped out the ripples of skin, drawn together at the center by a ropy line.

Chase swallowed.

The amount of muscle missing....

House shouldn't really be bearing weight on this, there was so much of what was either atrophy or the initial removal gone....

He felt the remaining muscles clench under his fingers, and House went tense with pain.

He bit his lip and gently, so gently, rubbed his fingers over the cramping area.

The knot eased under his fingers, and House unclenched, panting slightly.

"How long has it been getting worse?"

House shrugged underneath his head, still breathing heavily.

"Since... a while. Don't know exactly."

Chase nodded into House's shoulder.

"It's so weird," he said after a while.

"What is?" asked House, realizing that Chase's warm hand on his leg felt better than any heating pad ever could.

"The hospital. With the power out. It's so quiet. You never notice how noisy it is until it isn't."

House swallowed, as Chase shifted a little bit further on top of him.

"You still cold?" he asked, slightly nervously. Chase would never push it too far, but still...

"No. I just like you."

The room, quiet as it had been before, went dead silent.

Chase grimaced.

"That came out completely wrong."

There was a long pause, during which he wondered if he had sent House into shock.

"Did it?"

He raised his head.

"What?"

"Did it come out wrong?"

An even longer pause.

"No. It didn't. I just know how--"

He stopped talking as a callused right hand touched the side of his face.

"You're more than just interesting, you know that right?"

Chase was silent.

He swallowed.

At that moment, he wished the most that he had ever wished that he could see. Because he wanted to know what that feeling looked like in those brilliant blue eyes.

"Why? Why aren't you running away?"

"Because I can barely stand up."

Chase rolled his eyes.

"Because you're not going to suddenly realize I'm a jerk. You've been around me for five years, you know who I am, you know what you're getting into."

"So... it's not...."

"Because you're blind?"

"Yeah."

"Technically, it is."

Chase stiffened.

"Because if you weren't blind, I wouldn't have spent this much time around you, and if I hadn't spent this much time around you, I never would have figured it out."

Chase was silent for a moment longer.

Then he smile, for the first time in a long time.

He carefully spread his hand out over House's face, guiding himself as he leaned down.

Chase decided that he could live with not seeing the eyes, if it meant the emotions he wanted to see would actually be there.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

A week later, he was sitting on the couch, leaning against House as they watched some movie with lots of loud bangs and engine noises, when the doorbell rang.

He got up—House's bad leg was still bothering him—and answered the door.

"Um, hi?" he asked, unsure who it was.

"Hi Chase."

Oh, Wilson.

"Hi Wilson."

He stepped back to let Wilson in.

"Hey."

"Hey House."

House looked up at the odd sound of Wilson's voice.

Wilson had his hand over his mouth, obviously hiding a huge grin.

House rolled his eyes.

"Oh, shut up."

Chase blinked, having missed the reason for House saying that completely, but realized that half of how House and Wilson communicated was just expressions, and passed it off as that.

The blond doctor hesitated for a moment, unsure whether it was ok to cuddle in front of Wilson.

"You coming back here or not?"

Chase smiled, working his way back over—House was habitually leaving random stuff on the ground, and though Chase was pretty sure he would stop if asked, he didn't really mind that much.

Wilson sat down on the couch next to them, and they watched the rest of the movie in companionable silence.

Chase sat there, leaning sideways against House, with Wilson laughing quietly on his other side, and wondered when the last time he had felt like this was. Felt this happy, this close to another person. Shared another person's life. He couldn't even place exactly what the feeling was.

Another knock on the door, he heard Wilson get up.

Cameron and Foreman's footsteps entered.

Chase raised his head, blinking.

He heard them come in, sit down next to Wilson on the couch.

The doorbell rang again.

Cameron's footsteps went to get it, Cuddy's clacking, high-heeled footsteps entered. Chase heard the air go out of the cushions on the recliner.

"House, what the hell....?"

"It's your birthday, moron."

Chase blinked.

"It is?"

House laughed.

"Yes."

"Oh. That makes more sense."

That was what the feeling was.

The feeling that he hadn't had for fifteen years.

The feeling that he was part of a family.

He rested his head back on House's shoulder, smiling quietly to himself.

On his last birthday, he had been in a MRI at Princeton general, knowing before the scan had even started that he had cancer.

This birthday was turning out to be much more enjoyable.

END (until the sequel)


End file.
